


Delirium of Negation

by DontForgetToPanic



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe, Character Death, Discussions of Death and the Afterlife, Doctor/Patient, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual Euthanasia, Oral Sex, Philosophical Wank, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Suicidal Themes, of an OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-19 10:27:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13702593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontForgetToPanic/pseuds/DontForgetToPanic
Summary: Dan as a cardiothoracic surgeon a la Kevorkian + Phil as a lost soul without a heartbeat + some self-indulgent nihilistic ramblings + a homage to my 13 yrs in Catholic School + a bit of raunchy hospital bed smut





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Please see the end notes for more detailed trigger warnings, I was able to keep them spoiler free. If there are any others you think I should add please let me know! This fic is just an excuse for me to get all pretentious (a la Dan style). 
> 
> I usually don't need to include a disclaimer, but this time I want to make clear that opinions expressed in this fic in no way reflects my own thoughts and personal opinions.
> 
> EDIT: I didn't change too much from what I already had uploaded, I just cleaned it up because I went on too many tangents at times. If that makes sense.

It’s more interesting when it stutters.

It’s more interesting because when the heart's exposed, as it is now, there's a wonderful weakness to it—a beating heart is balanced, repetitive, boring (so boring), as boring as the life of its bearer. But when the heart stutters… well, that’s when true beauty emerges.

Especially when the heart's fault is due to a myocardial infarction as severe as this one.

“More suction,” Dan orders, hands steady as the PA, Louise, draws the fluid surrounding the heart, and once she finishes Dan repositions the scalpel lightly against the right-frontal heart valve. He opens the valve to reveal the darkened plaque caked on the inner walls...

 

And it’s beautiful.

 

***

 

He sometimes has this dream where he holds a living heart in his hand.

He listens to the steady beats echo through the empty room and watches how the blackened, clotted blood trickles down the inside of his wrist, and it’s beautiful.  The heart is the focal point of his attention until he notices something across the room and sees the faceless, heartless figure watching him.

Each time, Dan holds the heart out towards the other in a silent question.

Each time, the faceless shadow nods their consent.

Each time, Dan closes his palm until the echoes of the beating heart turn silent.

 

***

 

Although he knows the suffering drains their souls, Dan still loves performing angioplasties on his patients. Heart attack victims with a history of multiple strokes are his favourite; no one questions it when patients like these part the world on his operating table.

 

_‘What’s the point, my heart’s going to fail again in no time.’_

 

“Number seven handle,” Dan calls out to Louise. He trades his soaked tool for a new one before he begins opening up an existing pathway to the heart, hands skilled from routine practice. The anesthesiologist moves to adjust the IV and Dan’s reminded of the countless cords attached to the patient’s body keeping it in a bastardized version of life.

 

_‘I should’ve died… my life’s pitiful anyway.’_

 

“More suction,” Dan demands again. He pulls the scalpel back as Louise does her job, but his eyes stay locked on the staggering heart before him as it marches closer towards death. He has two more steps (such simple steps) before he’s finished with the operation – then the patient can go back to the half-life they were living before. Two short steps.

 

 _‘My strokes already broke me, what's left to save? Tell me doctor, please tell me, oh_  God _please say there's something's left for me?’_

 

He lowers the scalpel back inside the open chest, the sterilized silver of the blade shining under the bright light above. Dan repositions the tool next to the heart valve, repositions it again, and again, and again, and again once more. One breath in, one breath out, and then he presses the scalpel lightly against the lower left of the right quadrant, all while the patient’s last conversation echoing inside his head.

Dan's one of the most decorated of heart surgeons, and he's respected for good reason. But sometimes...

No one would notice if... they never do. He could do it, knows he can. A small prick, a small push, a small flaw that, once examined, will be attributed to natural causes.  

After all, death is heaven compared to the shackles binding this person in limbo.

One small decision, a twitch of his wrist, and he's done. 

The light’s still shining white above the newly born corpse. Dan steps back from the operating table, content in knowing the light above's not owned by the silly idea of the omnipotent God.

No, that light is his own.

 

____

 

 “Do you think there’s a difference between bad and evil?”

 Chris shrugs. “Who gives a shit, Daniel? Call it whatever, humanity's all just different levels of fucked up.” Chris’s right arm dangles over the iron arm of the park bench and his legs are spread wide enough to force Dan to sit on the edge of the bench.

 It must be one of Chris’s irritable days, but honestly at least it’s not another weepy day where Dan needs to pretend to care about Chris’ feelings or whatever. His irritable days are fine enough, although Dan kind of wishes it could be one of Chris’s clingy days instead; at least then Chris always showers Dan with much deserved praise. But today Dan might as well be speaking with an abnormally petulant stone wall.

“The use of the word bad compared to evil isn’t really distinguished in our language, I’ve noticed,” Dan murmurs, leaning his head back to address the sky instead, “I mean, sure they have different connotations and evil is definitely ranked worse than bad, but no one, at least in our language, has actually has taken the time to truly compare the two. But when you enter into the more religious circles it’s surprisingly—”

Chris groans. “Honestly, mate, I have no idea why you do this. I don’t give a shit about hypotheticals or death or any of the other fucking creepy shit you go on about.”

Dan opens his mouth but Chris cuts him off again, voice suddenly low and clipped.

“Why the fuck do you even talk to me?”

“Because you’re a depressed histrionic and a pathological liar,” Dan shrugs, blunt, “no matter what we talk about no one would ever believe you, so this way I can talk to someone and not have to worry about them being a fucking rat.”

Chris glares across the park bench but Dan just shrugs again, so a few moments later Chris just looks away and sighs.

“I love how sensitive and nice you are, Daniel,” Chris’ voice drips with sarcasm. A quiet moment passes before Chris shakes his head and takes a deep breath—in, hold, out. “God, you’re more fucked up than me. You know that right?”

Dan’s confused, why does Chris sounds genuinely annoyed?

“You asked though,” Dan replies. Chris stares at him for a moment before he lolls his head towards his chest, resigned.

“Plus,” Dan continues, ignoring Chris’ defeatism, “I like it when you listen, I need someone to know when I free patients from their misery, and you like listening to it, I can tell. You like knowing about how I liberate them.”

“I like to listen to that because I’m suicidal,” Chris deadpans. His words hang lightly before them despite the chilling breeze.

Dan knows this, it’s too obvious to miss, but Chris has never admitted it out loud before, not to him or anyone else. Dan’s never been good with words (or emotions, or expressing emotions through words) so instead they sit in silence, watching the rest of the patients pass time in the in-patient psychiatric section of the hospital garden.

It’s a perverse imitation of humanity, Dan thinks, to keep people locked up in a pseudo-cage just because of their fucked up brains. The ones with the fucked up brains understand the world so much better than the ones who are free to pretend to be normal. Those are the ones who fail to understand the meaning of death.  They don’t even try, they don’t know anything, nothing, not at all like Dan and his search for a meaning ( _the_ meaning).

These patients here, though, they know a meaning ( _the_ meaning) to everything, why else would they be forced into this prison masked as a hospital? They see the world for how it is.

“I’ve figured it out.” Chris finally says, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“What type of fucked up you are.”

“Oh, well do tell.”

“Psychopathic,” Chris says, voice clipped. Dan rolls his eyes.

“So unoriginal, and wrong. I’m not antisocial, I’m perfectly capable of empathy, and I’m definitely not violent.”

“You kill people because you have a god complex,” Chris says with a flat voice, “that’s on top of your grandiose delusions and obsession with morality.”

“That doesn’t fit under psychopathy at all,” Dan laughs, his eyes genuinely smiling in a way that pisses Chris off, “Keep researching.”

Chris flips Dan off, but before he can do anything else he freezes and his face loses colour.

“Fuck,” Chris mutters under his breath.

“What?” Dan asks, moving to look in the same direction as Chris.

“Phil’s going to get put back on watch if he keeps pulling that shit. I don’t even know how he gets cigarettes, they’re banned here.” Chris exhales one hard, exasperated breath. He bumps their shoulders to point Dan towards the gardening shed across the yard.

When Dan spots him his mind stills, his eyes unable to move away from where Chris has pointed out. The man looks to be only a few years older than Dan from where he’s sat on the steps in front of the garden shed, and he looks serene despite how wisps of dark hair violently struggling in the wind and a thin cloud of smoke escaping his lips to poison the otherwise peaceful breeze surrounding him.

Dan doesn’t know what it means, but he’s certain that man’s a perfect embodiment of the living sands of time.

“I can’t believe that fucking idiot is my roommate. I have no idea how we’re friends,” Chris tips his head back to confide in the sky, “I’m going to bed.”

Dan doesn’t react as Chris leaves; instead, he stands and moves across the garden, wondering if he’s being dragged along by an entity almost as powerful as he is.

When he’s a few feet away from the shed Dan stills and watches as the man wraps his lips back around the cigarette, watches as his chest expands to welcome a slow, nicotine-powered death. 

“Those’ll kill you. Trust me, I’ve seen enough tarred lungs to know.”

Dan doesn’t feel the words escape his throat until the man turns to look at him, through him, as if he sees the irony laced in Dan’s words. Dan sees beauty in broken lungs, and the nameless man smiles as if he knows it.

“I had no idea,” The man gasps in mock-surprise, unfazed despite being addressed by a doctor while smoking obvious contraband, “why aren’t there any warnings about that?”

“Lung cancer is a terrible way to meet death,” Dan ignores the sarcasm, moving one step further to join the man on the steps.

“But I’m already there?” He says, deadpan. He barely pauses before continuing in a lighter tone. “I mean... I don’t have anything inside me so I wouldn’t have to worry about cancer even if I was alive.” He shrugs, exposing the defined lines of his collar bone barely contained under a light layer of paper-white skin.

“Okay,” Dan smiles, playing along.

“Why are you here?” The man asks, pointing the half-finished cigarette at Dan’s white lapcoat, “I mean, it’s always nurses that babysit us, not doctors. Why would you be out?”

“I’m off the clock,” Dan tells him, “I came to talk to a friend. Your roommate apparently.”

“Chris? I thought he was lying when he said a doctor visits him every day out here.”

“Well,” Dan shrugs, “I guess he kind of was lying. I only visit him once or twice a week,” He forces another smile and holds out his hand, “I’m Dr. Lester, by the way, although you can call me Daniel since you’re not one of my patients, unless you plan to have heart surgery in the near future.”

There’s a lightness to Phil’s laugh that’s rather refreshing. Genuine laughter’s a rare commodity here, severe depression’s at least part of the reason for most of these patients being in this section of the garden.

“Pleasure to meet you, I’m sure. I’m Phil, named due to my parent’s lack of creativity.” Phil nods at him in lieu of shaking Dan’s hand. Phil holds the burning cigarette out to Dan, “Want a drag?” 

Dan stares at the offering.

“Why do you smoke out here? Chris said it’s not allowed.”

Phil looks amused, but before he can respond he gets temporarily sidetracked by a pigeon landing a few feet away.  Phil smiles even brighter and waves to the bird in greeting and honestly, Dan isn’t sure if he finds that weird or endearing. Honestly, it’s probably both.

Weird and endearing. Sounds like a rather accurate descriptor of the man. 

When the bird flies away Phil turns back to address Dan, still wearing a smile.

“What was the question? Oh, why am I breaking the no smoking rules. Well, it’s simple; God gifted us the free will to be the sole decision-makers of our actions, and God burdened us to be the sole bearers of the cost.”

He finishes the last of the cigarette as if to make a point, tossing the remnants on the grass.

He continues, “I exploit the grace endowed by God, and in turn I shoulder whatever consequences I accrue.”

Phil ends his explanation with a shrug, and damn Dan’s a bit shocked… he’s finally met someone as pretentious as he is. It takes a moment to process but when he does Dan shakes his head because, like,  _no_.

 “That’s a cop-out. If the traditional deified God exists He would never allow us to make our own choices. Humanity’s selfish and hateful by design, why would he let a mob of mindless idiots make independent decisions?”

Phil raises his eyebrows and lolls his head to the side, voice placating as if speaking to a rather petulant child.

“God is merciful, though,” Phil explains, “He grants suffering to test people’s love for Him.”

“So people suffer because God’s conceited and likes to hurt people? And if people can’t bear their suffering He tosses them into hell?”

“No, that’s not true, God is merciful.”

“I doubt that,” Dan says, but for some reason a piece inside of him sways.

“I’m pretty sure only the ones filled with as much blind faith as you can see your God as merciful.” Dan’s taken aback when he notices how soft his words sound out loud.

Phil’s smile softens to match Dan’s voice.

“His mercy’s obvious when you take into account how He only damns those who are deserving of it, like me. But the worthy ones, those are the ones He will love in eternal salvation.”

 _That sounds nothing like mercy_ , Dan thinks,  _I’m the one who distributes mercy and peace. I’m the one who cleanses the world of pain._

And in that moment he realizes that he’s going to make Phil understand that it’s really Dan who deserves his worship.

 “So who is worthy then?” Dan asks, “You said only the worthy will be loved by God. How does He decide?”

Phil laughs, and it reminds Dan of the wind chime he hung in the tree above his mother’s grave.

“Every being with a beating heart is free to seek redemption,” Phil explains, “It’s only once you are claimed by death that fate is determined. It’s once the living become like me God decides who to damn.”

“Why do you keep saying people like you?” Dan asks.

 Phil laughs again, smile etched across his narrow face, “I’m not alive. My heart doesn’t beat.”

 “What?”

 “I’m obviously dead,” Phil continues to smile, lightly pushing his elbow against Dan’s shoulder as if they’re just two friends ribbing each other.

“I…I don’t understand,” Dan blurts out, and probably for the first time in his life he’s at a loss for words.

 Phil fondly rolls his eyes and moves so he’s facing Dan with his entire body with his legs folded in front of him.

“Give me your hand,” Phil says, his voice light and presence as calm as Dan’s is not. When he doesn’t move his arm Phil rolls his eyes again and grabs his left hand.  He lifts it up to eye level to inspect it in a dramatic, comical flourish before swiftly placing it against his chest, right over his beating heart.

For the first time, Dan finds a heart’s steady, healthy rhythm beautiful.

“See?” Phil taps Dan on the nose as if talking to a young child, “My heart doesn’t beat because I don’t actually have a heart inside me anymore. It was taken like the all the rest of my organs and… hold on.”

Dan is silent while Phil frowns, trying to remember something.

“Oh!” Phil says loud enough to startle the two older women nearby. He’s still holding Dan’s hand against his chest and their skin has grown warm and content as they press together.

“I remember, I still have my liver. I lost all my organs except my liver. Isn’t that a funny thing to keep?” Phil grins, insistent, as if Dan should be smiling as well.

“You’re...you’re not dead though,” Dan stammers, eyebrows knitted together and he wonders if today is a day of firsts, because Dan has never been truly as confused as he has been during this entire conversation.

“Here,” Dan continues, “right here, feel your heart. It’s still beating, how could you not feel it?” Dan flips their hands around so he’s the one pressing Phil’s hand against his own chest.

“Now you’re just playing dumb,” Phil says with a fond roll of his eyes, “there’s nothing there. You’re so weird, Dan. I’m not usually a fan of living people, but I kind of like you.”

“Daniel,” he corrects, “not Dan.” No one’s allowed to call him Dan. Anymore.

He ignores the rest of Phil’s remark.

“Yeah but that’s too many letters,” Phil waves his hand in dismissal, “I’m just going to call you Dan. It was really nice to meet you, Dan. You should come see me tomorrow, I’ll make sure not to leave before then.” With that Phil disentangles their hands and stands up, holding eye contact for a moment longer before walking back inside.

 

__________________

 

“So this next guy is recovering from a pretty fucked up stroke and, oh shit, he’s got stage four pancreatic cancer too? How did we not get assigned to this unlucky mess until now?”

“Probably because you just called his medical problem a ‘pretty fucked up stroke.’” Dan says, deadpan. He makes sure to stare straight ahead rather than at his intern, Tom, and holds in a severely inappropriate laugh.

“Well, I mean nothing I said was a lie...no we’re in the next door, room 201.”

“You have to remember not to talk,” Dan warns, raising his eyebrows when Tom acts shocked.

“I’m wounded,” he says with a dramatic gasp, to which Dan just rolls his eyes.

“You always manage to say the most insulting thing possible. Just stand there and watch... _quietly_ ,” Dan shoots a pointed look at Tom, who mimes locking his lips, and then they enter the hospital room. The patient is sitting on the edge of the bed, and Dan has to look down at the clipboard one more time before he can introduce himself.

“So, what’s the deal? How ‘m I doing?” The patient mumbles, the left side of his face drooping and immobile from his stroke.

 “We’re here to talk about treatment regarding your pancreatic cancer, we--”

 “’m already on chemo, wha’ next?” The patient interrupts, and despite his drooping face the man looks hopeful which is tedious because hope is something Dan doesn’t try to empathize with anymore. He’s just as indifferent towards this patient as he is for the rest of the boring bodies he sees every day. The only ones he cares about anymore are the ones he chooses to release.

“Your current course of treatment has shown to be ineffective. The cancerous mass has grown five percent since you started the most recent treatment six weeks ago, but since your celiac axis and superior mesenteric artery are still free we can attempt performing a resection of the tumor.”

 “What? I have no idea what you just said, how...” The patient’s face falls in a way that can’t be attributed to the stroke, “how could this have happened?”

Dan does what he normally does when a patient interrupts him—he looks at his clipboard and pretends not to hear.

“We would need to deal with it within the week, so we’ll to send a nurse practitioner to explain the details to you. She will be able to answer any questions you might have. Thank you.”

“Wait, wait, I don’t understand!” The man yells, a few tears start to drip down his numb face while Dan turns to leave.

“Is your hearing going as well?” Tom asks. Dan sighs when Tom keeps talking.

“Because if another part of you isn’t working we need to put it on the list and...oh shit man, don’t cry. With you droopy face you already look messed up...”

Dan grabs Tom by the arm and pulls him out of the room.

“What did I say,” Dan’s voice flat, “don’t talk to the patient. You may be smart, and you may be relatively charismatic most of the time, but one day that’s not going to be enough. If enough people report you to admin you’re not going to even get the chance to be a resident.”

“I didn’t do anything, though,” Tom insists, “I was just checking to make sure he didn’t have anymore problems, you saw how bad his body’s breaking down. Plus, like did you see his face when he started to cry? God, how did you not find that hilarious?” He starts to laugh at the same time Dan lets a curse escape his mouth.

“Seriously, you really need to learn some bedside manners.”

“Well, sure, but I’m obviously not going to learn that from you,” Tom says with a grin. Dan shrugs.

“That’s… not a lie.”

“Hey,” Tom nudges Dan with his shoulder, “by the way, want to know what I was doing last night?”

“No,” Dan answers, but Tom pretends not to hear him.

“I was looking up the weirdest illnesses. Mate, some of them are so hilarious.”

“Illnesses are serious things. And don’t call me mate.” Dan’s half paying attention now, quickly growing bored of conversation. He never realized how inconvenient it is to have his office so far from the med bay.

“Yeah, but just listen some of these. Like, there’s this one called Fibrodysplasia Ossificans Progressiva, right? And basically your tendons and ligaments slowly turn to bone and--”

Over the last few month Dan has successfully perfected his ability to tune Tom out, something rather helpful at the moment because this way Dan can think about yesterday. He doesn’t understand why, but he’s been obsessing over Phil, the man’s been plaguing every thought he has. Everytime he closes his eyes Phil’s eyes stare back, the light inside of them hinting at a smile.

Dan has never cared about anyone except the ones he saves, but somehow Phil has crawled into every empty cavity of Dan’s body.

“—and I thought it was like someone thinking they’re a zombie or something, but they don’t try to eat brains or anything which honestly sucks. They do usually think they don’t have certain body parts though, so that’s cool... it’s supposed to be like they’re decomposing or something which—”

 “What?” Dan halts. He stops Tom from walking ahead with a hand on his shoulder.

 “What?” Tom repeats.

 “Tell me what you were talking about. Who thinks they’re decomposing?”

“Well if you were  _listening_  you would already know, wouldn’t you?” Tom smirks and pokes Dan in the center of his chest. Dan stays silent, his lips pursed as he squints at Tom through the narrow slits of his eyes. Tom waits a few moments before sighing and giving in.

“Cotard’s syndrome. They think they’re dead even though they’re obviously not. It’s kinda cool because they’re like around people and everyone’s telling them stuff like ‘mate, you’re totally alive’ but they won’t believe them. And sometimes they get all this false confidence because they’re immortal or something, and they get super angry at the world and shit afterwards, but other times they’re super depressed because they have no purpose because like, well, they’re dead.”

“And the body part thing?” Dan asks, wishing Tom would get to the point.

“Well it depends on the person, but sometimes they think they’re decomposing and other times they just think they’re missing stuff because they don’t need it anymore. Why’re you so interested?” Tom asks, a curiosity in his eyes that he doesn’t usually expose.

 “No reason, it’s just...curious,” Dan answers.

He starts walking again, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

____________________

Dan's met with Phil next to the garden shed for two weeks, but this time as he’s making his way there Chris intercepts him to relay a message, directing Dan to meet Phil in the chapel instead. He doesn’t hesitate to go, but when Dan arrives all he can do is stare at the door, memorizing the outline of the crucifix etched in the wood. The eyes of Jesus mock him even as his arms splay across his cross, taunt in defiance, and the image stares into Dan’s eyes and challenges him to even try converting Phil’s heart. It burns his corneas while it repeats itself over and over: Phil’s heart was never made to love a sinner like you.

He breathes in, closes his eyes, and opens the door.

Inside, the chapel’s empty— the only source of life radiating from a select few lights left on overhead and a few candles burning near the alter. A decade or so ago this was a Catholic hospital, so while this chapel is  _technically_ supposed to be accommodating to any faith the original intentions are still obvious… mostly because of the artful windows, partly from the ornate tabernacle, and slightly due to the seats designated for altar servers.  

Dan almost jumps when he hears shuffling echo from across the room.

“Phil?” Dan whispers, voice echoing across every aisle of the chapel.  It’s quiet; anyone inside could hear his words perfectly.

“Dan! I didn’t think you would come,” Phil smiles, and when Dan walks over Phil reaches a hand out and grabs his wrist, dragging him down next to him so they both rest on the wooden kneelers.

“I had to think about it,” is all Dan knows to say, and once again Phil laughs. It’s a habit, Dan notices. Phil laughs even when there’s no reason to.

“It’s the first Friday of the month, that’s why the body of Christ is displayed on the altar. I’m to stay for another hour until Father Baekhyun comes to relieve me.”

“Why?” Dan asks, moving back a little to see the outline of Phil’s face.

“The Eucharist is arguably the most important sacrament,” Phil says, his eyes still trained on the altar before him, “and the first Friday of the month is a time for repentance and cleansing. People attend mass today mostly to ask for forgiveness, and I guess to repent for their sins. Once they’re absolved they can accept Communion.”

“So basically you’re saying you sit here, think about all the shit you’ve done, ask your God to forgive you, and then eat what you pretend is the body of your lord,” Dan says, but immediately regrets it once Phil turns his head, his face still as if it was carved in stone.

Time ticks by in thick silences until suddenly Phil laughs and throws an arm around Dan’s shoulder.

“Yeah I guess that’s the gist of it, although I personally don’t quite follow that pattern.”

“Why not? You don’t have any sins?” Dan asks, forcing his voice to sound light. Phil’s face turns back to that stone carving he bore moments before, and slowly he looks to his right. His eyes fix to one of the stain glass windows decorating the walls. He turns to see what Phil’s looking at, and spots the image of an older being, presumably God, watching a line of corpses walk on top of a grassy cliff. One by one, each corpse falls off the edge, sinking into the inky depths of the angry water below.

“I don’t take communion,” Phil finally says, his voice harder than anything Dan has ever heard. It feels as if Phil possesses the voice of the cursed.

“Why not?” Dan asks. Phil’s arm falls slowly off Dan’s shoulders.

“You must not bear sin to receive it, but I am sin personified. I am the damned who must plague this world until Satan finally comes to relieve me.”

“Why the hell would you think that—”

“So you’re a doctor!” Phil interrupts, his stone face transforming once again into malleable life, “what kind of doctor are you?”

Dan stares at Phil for a moment, tracing the profile of his transformed face, and doesn’t know what he’s feeling but he thinks it might be intrigue.

“I’m a surgeon. Cardiothoracic. I specialize in lungs and hearts.”

“That’s amazing,” Phil says, “what’s it like?”

“Being a surgeon?”

“No,” Phil shakes his head, “holding the fate of someone’s life in your palm.”

Dan doesn’t hesitate to answer.  

“Capable. Powerful.”

Phil nods, his face changes again, this time into a physical representation want. Dan stays silent.

Half an hour goes by, Dan’s knees are screaming in pain and his thighs are shaking from cramps. He’s a moment away from standing up, but once he shifts his knees it’s as if Phil springs back to life. He whips towards Dan suddenly, Dan blindly reaching an arm out and grabbing Phil’s shoulder to balance himself.

“You startle so easily, Danny,” Phil laughs, pushing Dan with a surprising amount of strength so Dan is back in his original position.  

“Well I--”

“Do you ever wonder why God would give us free will if he has perfect knowledge of all time and decisions?”

Phil question rings out across the chapel. Neither of them move as if they’re waiting to see if God will answer them.

“I haven’t, no,” Dan finally breaks the consuming silence.  Phil lifts his shoulders high in defiance. Dan doesn’t know if he is directing the defiance towards him or towards God.

“He created Adam and Eve void of free will, because to have free will you have to have knowledge of what’s good and what’s evil. They were ignorant even while the access to that knowledge was planted right in front of them. They didn’t choose to eat the apple, it was God. God didn’t give them a choice,” Phil spits out his last few words as if they are tainted and continues with his hands gripping the pew in front of them, his knuckles white.

“You don’t have a choice if you don’t even know a choice exists. God created everything, God knows everything, God controls everything yet He still lies to us. He did not create us with free will, he forced Adam and Eve into it and then punished them for doing something he never allowed them to understand. God calls their actions original sin, but in reality. it is His actions that are true original sin.”

Dan can’t divert his eyes away from Phil’s profile as he once again watches his face transform, anger to resentment and now to resignation.

“God was the one to tempt them, not Satan. Satan simply followed the path God forced upon him,” Phil finishes.

“I thought you said God was merciful; didn’t you say He endowed us to chose to place our love in Him?” Dan asks. He keeps his tone as even as possible, not knowing what features will be etched into Phil’s face next.

“Maybe I was right before. Maybe I’m just as evil as Satan so I can’t understand the will of God.”

“You’re not evil, Phil,” Dan says, forcing his voice to stay firm, resolute. He turns Phil by the shoulders so they are face to face, their chests only inches away from each other.

“You’re filled with goodness, and the idea of God—merciful or spiteful or otherwise—is a constructed, powerless idea. You do not answer to a higher being.”

Dan rests his forehead against Phil’s so their eyes are perfectly level. His breath brushes gently against Phil’s lips as Dan speaks his next words.

“God is not your savior, He is weak. I am the one who cleanses sin. I am the one who dispels suffering. Why would you need to believe in God when all you need to do is believe in me?”

Silence.

Long after silence consumes the chapel their foreheads are still pressed together, and Phil’s eyes barely blink as he stares into Dan’s, gaze is focused and darting as if he’s searching for something.

Moments later Phil moves just far enough away that he can lift his hands up and wrap them around each side of Dan’s head. He presses his thumbs against the edges of Dan’s temple, increasing the pressure with every second until Dan can feel Phil’s presence in his bones.

“Maybe you’re just as evil as I am,” Phil whispers soft enough that even the tall ceilings and the eavesdropping walls can’t hear.

“I always knew, I—” Phil pauses, his tone imbalanced as if he’s still searching for words, “I knew there’s a reason your eyes glow red. It must have been a sign from below. It means we’ll enter the gates of hell together.”

“My eyes?” Dan whispers back, his eyebrows knitting together. Once again he’s lost at Phil’s words. In lieu of answering, Phil smiles and lifts his head up enough to press a soft kiss where Dan’s forehead meets his hairline.

When he looks back down he’s still smiling, his skin creased near the corners of his eyes. He presses his thumbs softly against Dan’s eyelids to urge them closed, and once Dan’s world turns black as he feels a feather-soft touch press against his right eyelid. It holds still for a moment before the pressure transfers to his other eye.

It’s a kiss, Dan decides. Phil has kissed each of his eyes.

Phil pulls back and Dan opens his eyes again so that they are once again watching each other.  

“Oh Dan, your eyes are painted scarlet,” Phil finally says, “those who dwell below us... they have finally sent me a promise.”

Before Dan can say anything Phil moves forward in one swift motion. He presses their lips together for a brief moment, only long enough for their souls to bind together. Phil pulls back far enough that their lips are still lightly brushing together with every breath, and Dan can  _feel_  rather than hear Phil’s next words:

_Now we will be damned together._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wakes up with sweat on his forehead and a realization that Phil isn’t simply another meaningless life.

 

“Have you ever wondered why we’re here?”

“Not exactly.” He says, and Dan doesn’t exactly lie, because he mostly wonders about the way people leave this world rather than why they’re here in the first place.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it,” his patient says. A moment passes before she continues talking despite the fact that Dan hasn’t given any indication that he’s listening.

 “My husband is dead. My only child was ripped from this world. My parents were taken long ago, as well as my only sister. I have no existing relatives, all my friends have now past, and the only person who is willing to talk to me anymore is the nurse, and only because she’s paid to. I’m ninety-three years old and fully aware of what is happening around me. I see movement around me, I see the lives pass by my door. I know the world is still turning, but what about me? I’m caught in this limbo.”

She looks up from her bed towards Dan. He continues to inspect her file and write down notes from the EKG he just performed on her.

“I dream about Death sometimes,” she continues when she realizes Dan isn’t going to engage, “Death is a beautiful woman cloaked in black and gold robes, like the night sky painted in golden stars. She wakes me from my sleep and kisses my cheek, reassuring me in a beautiful, lilting voice as she helps me out of bed. She takes off a layer of her robes and wraps it around my shoulders and... oh god, she’s so beautiful,” tears are starting to glisten in the corners of the patient’s eyes but Dan pretends not to notice.

“She promises she will stay by my side until we’re home, and then she tells me to take her hand. We walk on solid ground even though there isn’t anything below us, and we’re in complete darkness...it’s darkness except for the stars of her robes and the shimmer of the cloth she wrapped around my body. And it’s beautiful in the darkness while we walk through the void. We walk for such a long time. I think it might be eternity.”

The patient trails off, her words still hanging loose in the air. The silence builds long enough that Dan finishes with her chart and hangs it at the foot of her bed.

“I’ve never felt such peace as that,” the woman admits, her tears finally escaping her eyes, “but it’s only a dream.”

Dan still has one hand on the chart when he stills, his body rigid while he processed her words. She watches the colored leaves outside her window part one by one from their home in the trees, and then Dan realizes she’s the one lone leaf who can’t seem to fall no matter how hard it tries.

He moves silent and determined to the other side of her bed, pulling a hypodermic needle out of one of the drawers attached to the wall. The patient is still facing the window as Dan gets the needle ready, double checking to make sure it’ll be able to create an air bubble the first time. He ends suffering; not creates it.

He’s already pushed the syringe into her IV tube before she turns her head again. Confusion clouds her eyes as she looks up at Dan, and he stares right back at her when he says the last words she will ever hear in this world.  

“Take my hand. I will be right here beside you until you’re home.”

__________________

When Dan visits Phil’s floor in the hospital he’s met with an unorganized symphony of voices louder than anything he has heard in a long time.

Some orderlies are trying to move everyone out of the halls; a good number of others are gathered down the corridor to diffuse some other type of panic. Dan spots Chris close to the action and he quickly dodges other patients to move closer to him.

“What’s going on?” Dan asks once he’s beside him. Chris doesn’t seem surprised when he hears Dan’s voice, instead standing uncharacteristically still, staring ahead at what seems to be, with closer inspection, a fight.

“Chris? What’s g---”

“Phil’s got to stop doing this,” Chris says, “he’s going to get sent somewhere worse. No one is going to look out for him. He doesn’t have anyone.” Chris’ stares straight ahead, and it doesn’t take Dan long to process Chris’s words. He doesn’t think as he walks the rest of the length down the hallway.

“That’s what you get you fucking mother-fucker fuck! I can’t figure out what’s smaller, your brain or your dick? Do the doctors know? We can ask them! They probably have you on file as the smallest recorded dick in history--what the fuck get that out of me!”

Phil comes into view right as one of the nurses push a needle into the flesh between Phil’s shoulder and neck. Phil’s body starts to react to the sedation right away and even his voice starts to weaken as he curses.

It’s only his eyes that don’t waver. Fire fueled by pure, unadulterated hate burns inside his eyes. It’s the most powerful and terrifying emotion Dan has ever witnessed, and he realizes that if there really was fire in hell it would be exactly like Phil’s eyes.

“What the hell is going on?” Dan finally says, directing his question towards the one pressing the needle into Phil’s neck. If Phil’s eyes burn like hellfire then Dan will hold the kindling ashes in his throat.

“I’m sorry you had to be here doctor, two of our patients got out of control and—”

“And why would you let it happen in the first place? Why are you holding him like that, he’s obviously hurt,” The closer Dan gets the more he can see the extent of whatever fight Phil was in; his nose is gushing blood, a bruise is forming around his left eye, and his right arm is hanging unnaturally limp against his side. He reaches out to take Phil from him but a nurse steps in his way.

“He wasn’t cooperating, doctor, this is the only way we can ever get him to stop.”

“Ever?” Dan repeats in a low voice, “what do you mean ‘ever’?”

“Well, there’s a certain type of person who has a habit of getting into these kinds of situations.”

Dan doesn’t have a chance to respond--as soon as he opens his mouth Phil falls limp until the only part of him moving is his eyes. Dan lunges to help keep Phil upright but a different nurse reaches him first, grabbing his legs and helping lift Phil onto a newly procured gurney.

Dan is able to make brief eye contact with Phil as he’s being pushed down the hallway, but those burning eyes don’t recognize him.

As he turns Dan sees the second party in the fight passed out on the floor with nurses trying to tend to him. His skin is splattered with streaks of blood and bruises are blooming over almost every inch of his skin, and Dan can tell without moving closer nearer that his leg is broken. He wonders how long Phil was able to fight before the employees got involved.

He wonders if Dan’s not the only one with eyes painted scarlet.

__________________________

 That night Dan dreams his usual dream of the faceless figure, but this time instead of him holding a beating heart, it’s Phil. Blood has already coated most of his wrist and is now weaving its way down his arm even as more blood splatters onto the floor below. The copper red glows bright against his pallid skin.

The fire behind Phil’s eyes match the color painted across his arm.

The steady beating of the heart grows louder with every second and Dan knows what happens next so he looks around, searching for the faceless body void of a heart. He can’t find a figure, though, no matter how hard he searches, and when he turns briefly back towards Phil he freezes. Phil is staring right back at him with a question etched in his face.

Dan franticly lifts a hand to his chest. When he presses his hand against his skin all he feels is something wet and chilling. He forces himself to look down even when he already knows what he will find.

 Dan feels nothing upon seeing the hole carved into his chest, and when looks back up he sees Phil still staring at him, the same question burning into their shared soul.

He pauses for a single breath before he gifts Phil with a nod of consent.

 The rhythmic pounding of the heart stops with one final note.

 _________________________

Two weeks later Chris is out when Dan visits Phil in his room.

 “I heard the other guy’s going to be bedridden for at least three more weeks,” Dan says in way of greeting. Phil doesn’t even look up from where he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes are glazed over as he stares vacantly across the room at Chris’s area and Dan can’t tell if he’s the subdued because he’s lost in thought or because he’s still adjusting to the increased dosage of mood stabilizers. Dan closes the door behind him and joins Phil on the bed.

 As Dan was walking by the nurses’ station he grabbed Phil’s file and marked an X next to Phil’s name on the whiteboard. With a doctor in the room no one will disturb them.

 “So what’d he do?”

Phil doesn’t reply.

 “I’ve never actually got into a fistfight, I highly doubt I’d come out on top,” Dan supplies, and it’s true, Dan’s never felt anything, anger, love, or otherwise, directed towards a single person before. He doesn’t have time to think about any one meaningless, boring person.

 (He doesn’t admit that Phil can be his exception.)

Phil doesn’t move, and for some reason Dan is reminded of the question he asked Chris on the day he first met Phil.

“Do you think there’s a difference between bad and evil?” Dan asks, facing straight ahead towards the center of the quiet dorm. He waits eight boring, steady heartbeats before he turns and places his hands on each side of Phil’s face. His hands move without his brains permission, forcing Phil to look him square into Dan’s eyes.  

“I asked if you think that there is a difference between bad and evil?” Dan keeps his words in tune with his heartbeats.

Phil’s eyes transform from vacant back to the fire Dan has become intimately acquainted with.

“That’s such a stupid question,” Phil spits out, venom laced in each word. Dan’s hands burn where he’s still holding Phil’s face.

“Why?”

“It’s fucking obvious; I can’t tell if you’re stupid or just don’t know how to process facts because you’re so dense.” It’s the first time Dan’s seen Phil’s lips release thorns rather than roses.

Phil’s suddenly burdened with a ball of concentrated anger but Dan doesn’t know who or what it’s directed at (he’s not sure Phil knows the answer either). Dan’s ears are static as they helplessly listen on.

“The evil ones exist with a sole purpose. To  **be**  evil,” Phil says, face now inches again from Dan’s. “The evil were stripped of their choice the second God made them out of Satan’s rib. It was the bad who were made out of the rib of God.”

“Bad people are human,” Phil whispers as if he’s relaying a disgusting secret, “they have the capacity to stumble. God, the fucked up monster that He is, created people to be bad by nature. But bad people are the lucky fucks for He also created them to be good, and God accepts the good into His kingdom. God forced Adam and Eve to bear original sin so that their children may possess free will.”

“You really think these corpses have free will?” Dan lowers his voice to match Phil’s, “Humanity doesn’t have enough autonomy to decide anything. They’re the evil ones.  Their empty, vapid brains only understand suffering. They’re meaningless.”

Phil laughs a hollow laugh, and it resembles nothing of what Dan remembers.

“If creation is meaningless why would you give a fuck about their suffering?”

“I’m their savior,” Dan blurts out, “today they know nothing but soon they will know me.”

“They already have God as their savior,” Phil growls, grabbing the cloth of Dan’s shirt and pushing his chest hard enough that Dan’s back slams against the wall. The bed creaks in protest.

“I am their deliverer, God is just who creates their pain,” Dan spits back, his eyes glowing with emotion almost matching Phil’s.

“No, you are their nightmare,” Phil replies, his voice cursed. But as soon as the words leave his mouth he slumps in defeat.

“We are those who have no savior,” Phil whispers, the edges of his lips curled in a mock smile. “We are the damned ones. The living,” Phil keeps one hand lightly on Dan’s chest, “and the dead.”

He places his other hand on his own chest. Right on his beating heart.

“We are the damned,” he repeats, “we were created from pain, we distribute that pain, and for eternity we live in pain. God is merciful, but he shows no mercy towards us. We deserve no mercy. Our eyes share our burden: we are one. Isn’t it beautiful? I’m no longer alone. We are damned together.”

Phil leans forward until their chests are pressed tight together and he rests his face lightly against the side Dan’s head. Dan can feel his smile press against his cheek.

Dan does not share his smile.

“We are not the ones who are damned, I have blessed us,” Dan says, keeping every word clear. He wraps each hand around Phil’s shoulders before he continues, as if it could help him understand.

“Our hearts beat together because are each a living piece of our whole. I may be the savior of the world, but you are the savior of me. We live together as we will always live together.”

Phil’s soft laugh warms his cheek.  

“We cannot live together if I’m already dead. I’m an empty shell.” And then there’s a soft of lips against skin.

“I am hollow” Phil says, keeping his lips where they are, “and I’m damned to this world by God’s punishment, but don’t worry, soon God will forget.”

Phil kisses the skin above Dan’s ear.

“And then Satan will come and drag me below.”

“I have already saved you,” Dan hisses and tries to sit up from where he’s slumped against the wall. Phil pushes him back where he was.

“The damned cannot be saved.”

“I am the savior.”

“Please, don’t” Phil whispers, moving again so their noses touch, “just let us be damned together.”

And then he kisses him.

This kiss, unlike their kiss in the chapel, is heated, wrapped in more emotion than Dan has ever experienced in his life. Phil bites Dan’s bottom lip until Dan gasps, giving him an opening to slide his tongue into Dan's mouth, trace the ridges indented in the roof of his mouth. Phil moves on to running his tongue along the line where his teeth begin until finally sliding his tongue against Dan’s with a single-minded purpose.

Dan has yet to move except to suppress a shudder. He feels his soul being discovered.

Phil growls at the lack of response and without warning slides up on the bed, back rigid against the cheap wooden headboard. He grabs each of Dan’s thighs and pulls him until he’s on Phil’s lap, every inch of their bodies pressed together. When Dan tentatively starts to kiss back Phil drags his lips away with a smile.

“Finally, was wondering if you had turned to stone.”

“This is a bad idea,” Dan admits, but Phil just traces the skin under Dan’s eyes with the pads of his thumbs before leaning to steal another kiss, open-mouthed and quiet. It’s silent save their rapid breathing until Dan pulls back a few moments later.

“Good ideas are boring.”

Phil lifts Dan’s chin to continue their kiss and wraps one arm tight around Dan’s narrow waist, fingers running along the outline of his ribs before reaching down to grip both of Dan’s thighs.

Dan’s beautiful in a way he can’t describe, so in place of speaking he uses his lips to burn poems on his skin, to trace a sonnet along Dan’s cheekbones and a ballad across the soft base of his jaw. Against the sun-kissed skin of his neck Phil leaves a trail of kisses to mimic the melody of Dan’s staggered breaths.

He waits until Dan’s fingers wrap around the base of his neck before permitting his hands to roam any further his palms inch up from Dan’s thighs to his hips, and as he lets his fingers splay against Dan’s waist he realizes—if every kiss Phil gives is a verse, then Dan, the very man kneeling above him, is their epic poem. Dan is the canvas, Phil the words, their hearts left to tell their story.

Dan pulls the small hairs at the base of Phil’s neck to refocus his attention and draw him in so Dan could lead their kiss, lead it as if leading them into shallow water under a phantom moon to blanket them in serenity.

Dan firmly believes time is an arbitrary construct, so he doesn’t even consider how long the kiss before their hands are moving with more intent, kisses growing deeper and bodies pressing even closer until Phil can feel Dan’s dick against his stomach.  Through Dan’s trousers Phil can feel a damp patch forming at the head of his cock, and he doesn’t have to look down to know his own crotch would look the same.

Their eyes lock when they break for air, out of break even as their foreheads press together so they can breathe the same air.  Phil releases a breathless laugh when he notes a small line of spit’s left on Dan’s bottom lip, and when Dan wrinkles in brow in question Phil grins and leans back in to catch it with his tongue. It doesn’t feel like enough, though, so without thinking he wraps his lips around Dan’s bottom one and bites hard enough to draw a few beads of blood, enough to taste the bitter iron on his tongue. Dan’s only reaction is to grasp Phil’s upper arms in a brutal grip, hands gripping tight enough that’ll no doubt leave purple finger-shaped bruises to be found tomorrow.

Phil doesn’t hold back his smile when he thinks about tomorrow.

Suddenly Phil’s hands are moving on their own accord, armed with a single-minded purpose as they reach around Dan’s hips to his ass. Dan responds with a sharp exhale and he presses their foreheads together, bent so the tips of their noses kiss with an intimacy more intense than anything they have done up until now.

“We’re alone, you know,” Dan whispers, his breath a ghost against Phil’s lips.  

Phil’s only response is a quirk of his lips before his hands land on the center of the other’s torso, fingers inching between the spaces in Dan’s dress shirt and tugs, pulling the shirt apart without consideration of the buttons’ wellbeing. Dan groans at the loss of  _a perfectly good shirt, mind you,_ but Phil ignores him in favor of leaning forward to push back Dan’s hair so he can kiss his forehead, mussing up his curls in the process with a lack of finesse he just can’t give a damn about, not when Dan is kneeling above him like a masterpiece. Dan’s laugh rings across the hospital room when he’s pushed backwards, falling from his knees onto his back. The bed creaks as Phil crawls forward to kneel between Dan’s legs, hands pressing into the thin mattress on either side of Dan’s head.

“You still have clothes on,” Dan mumbles, a soft smile adorned on his face.

Phil’s eyes reflect Dan’s smile, “that is true.”

“We should get rid of them.”

“That is also true,” Phil nods. He doesn’t move to do anything about it, and barely a moment passes before Dan releases an exaggerated huff. In one fluid motion Dan wraps his legs firmly around Phil’s waist and flips them over, the bed once again creaking below them.

“You know the truth?” Dan asks, bending down to place a short kiss on Phil’s lips.

“Oh? Pray tell.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Dan’s grinning like a fool, and when Phil raises his eyebrows he leans forward to kiss the crease between them. They’re quiet for a moment, faces mere inches apart, but then something playful sparks in Dan’s eyes. Dan’s hands land on the of the other’s torso, fingers inching under the hem of Phil’s hospital-issued shirt and he tugs, lifting it until it’s bunched up beneath his chin so Dan’s hands are free to roam across his bare chest, and moment later his hands travel lower so to unzip the offending trousers. He’s surprisingly graceful as he sits back on his heels with a flourish, pulling Phil to join him. Phil doesn’t say a word, not when Dan’s busy lifting his arms to remove his white undershirt revealing the pale expanse of his chest.

With that the air is even more charged than before so they’re quick to remove the rest of their clothes in an uncoordinated frenzy, and once their done they gravitate back to each other, lips mere inches apart.  

“You know what’s going to happen, Phil, love?”

Phil shakes his head, eyes wide and pupils dilated.

“You’re going to blow me until I come,” Dan says, voice calm as his fingers toying with the hair above Phil’s ears.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And then…” Dan teases, “you’re going to finger me so I’m wet and open for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Yes, and then, well…” Dan pauses as if to consider his options, and when he starts to speak again his voice is lilting.

“And then you’re going to fuck me until I come again.”

Phil feels rather than hears a moan being ripped out of his throat, and he stares at where Dan’s already started to stroke his cock. It takes him a moment to regain composure before remembering he still has the mission Dan’s given him to complete.

Phil replaces his hand for Dan’s, starting off by stroking his cock slowly, hand tight around the shaft and thumb teasing the head with every upward stroke. At some point while Dan was teasing him Phil ended up with pressed back against the mattress, propped up on one elbow with Dan kneeling above him like an offering; thus, Phil has the perfect view to take in the way Dan’s fully succumbing to pleasure, head thrown back and his lips parted, the flush of his cheeks even starker as it spreads down his neck. Phil can feel his cheeks burn with him.

Phil’s thumb’s wet from the precome leaking out of Dan’s cock, so when he pulls his hand away he brings his thumb up to his lips and licks until it’s clean. He looks up through his eyelashes he sees Dan staring back at him,  glassy-eyed.

With Dan caught off guard Phil flips them back over so he’s once again hovering above him, and staying expressionless on the surface, Phil winks. Dan doesn’t try to hold back a small bark of surprise, and a smile etched on his face as Phil leans down to kiss his jaw and drag his lips to the skin under Dan’s chin. His lips work their way along Phil’s neck, varying each kiss between soft caresses and tiny bites.  

Once he finishes worshiping Dan’s collarbone he pauses, eyes freezing on his next destination. Slowly, hesitantly, Phil presses his ear against the other’s chest, right over the warm beating of the living heart.

In his mind he sees a stranger’s heart balanced in the palm of his hand, its steady beat piercing the inside of his ears with every pound of its boring, disgusting life...but then the sound in Dan’s chest wipes his mind clean, the only thoughts in his head are centered around the quiet beating music flowing into his ears...and this sound, this living, steady beat...this sound is--

“Beautiful.” Phil’s words are soft, reverent.

“What?” Dan asks, confused as he looks down to see why Phil paused.

“Your heart,” Phil whispers, a sacred secret, “your heartbeat is the most beautiful sounds I’ve ever heard.”

Phil quiets him with a kiss before Dan can respond, remind him that  _you have a heart too, Phil, your heartbeat is beautiful too_ , and then he’s moving back down Dan’s body to press his lips against Dan’s neck, his shoulder, down to his stomach and finally to his lips. He uses one hand to raise himself up and the other to wrap around Dan’s leaking cock. It’s still hard and leaking from earlier, so it’s easy when he lowers himself to wrap his lips around the head.

Above him Dan releases a sound deep in his throat, a groan and a plea all at once.

Phil wraps his fingers firm around the base and then he’s sinking down, widening his lips as far as they will go and forcing himself to relax his throat, peaceful listening to the panting above him, and when he flattens his tongue against the underside of his dick a silent scream escapes Dan’s chest and his back arches off the bed as if a spark of moonlight is lit in his spine.

When Dan reflexively lifts his hips his cock pushes further down Phil’s throat, but Phil holds steady as long as he can until he has to pull back lest he gag, letting the dick fall out of his mouth with a wet gasp of air. Small tears are forming at the corners of his eyes, but just as quickly he takes Dan back into his mouth, keeping his mouth lax when Dan’s small thrusts up start to grow more desperate, searching,  _needing_. His throat is starting to sting but he focuses on the new feel of the hand gripping his hair while Dan fucks into his mouth. At some point Phil pushes Dan’s hips back down to the bed so he can sink deeper on his cock, deeper until he can feel Dan pressing, burning against the back of his throat. For a single moment everything is silent, unmoving, and just as quickly Phil digs his fingernails into the flesh of Phil’s hips and he sucks hard around Dan’s dick. He lets out a harsh breath of air, sounding like he’s been punched, and then he’s coming down Phil’s throat. Phil stays down as long as he can, and as he pulls off for air there’s coming leaking down the side of his chin. When Dan’s eyes focus again it’s on the beads of come left on Phil’s face.

They watch each other until their breathing evens out again, and when he feels Dan’s heart start to calm Phil surges back up to claim his lip, kissing him like it’s their first time.

_______________________

 

That night Dan dreams about Phil’s eyes.

They’re alone, Phil’s on an operating table watching Dan choose a scalpel. Dan takes his time and when he turns to his patient he notes that there’s already markings on Phil’s chest indicating where incisions need to be made. He wastes no time cutting into Phil’s body, all the while neither of them releasing a sound, Phil’s eyes simply focused on Dan’s face as the other woks. Phil’s eyes are shining unnaturally bright, the only source of light save for the overhead lamp focused on his body.  

Dan’s hands are sure as he works so he doesn’t look up until he needs to exchange tools—only then does he truly see the other’s face. It’s chilling.

Phil’s calm and still and the blue of his eyes reflects the remnants of Dan’s soul.

It’s not the first time he’s noticed how Phil is the embodiment of true, unadulterated life.

He forces himself to drag his gaze back down at the project before him, and he can only just keep his hands steady when he gently pulls back the skin protecting Phil’s chest.

Inside he is empty. It’s silent until Phil’s lips finally part.

“We can’t have our eternity until I’m free of this body,” Phil calmly explains, “once my body has died you will follow me, I know it. We can be damned together, all we have to do is free our souls.”

Phil reaches to carefully take the scalpel from the surgeon’s loose fingers.

He reaches up to press the knife against his throat.

“Just think, love. Once we die in this world we can live forever in the next. We die as two, we live as one.” Phil takes one final breath and quickly slits his throat. No blood spills out but his eyes turn dark and void of the light that seconds ago was burning inside. Dan looks down. Listens.

There is no heartbeat.

 

________________________________

 

He wakes up with sweat on his forehead and a realization that Phil isn’t simply another meaningless life. Phil is the one, the spirit Dan’s been unknowingly searching for all this time. He finally understands—tonight, right here, right now, sitting in bed at two o’clock in the morning, the truth emerges from the ashes, the truth how he holds the power to release spirits towards the darkness of death. Now he must fight to contain a spirit in the brightness of life.

He can’t allow Phil pass the barrier between life and death, not now, not when Dan can’t yet follow.  

 

He arrives to work feeling something he’s never experienced before, unsure if he’s terrified, elated, peaceful, anxious, or a mixture of all of them, but whatever it is he’s filled with an unadulterated urgency that leaves him shaking as he rushes through the hospital to Phil’s room.

“Where is he?”

“Hello to you too,” Chris says, eyes not looking up from the book in his lap.

“Where is he?” Dan repeats, harsher. When he steps one foot into the bedroom Chris finally looks up a frown.

“Why the fuck should I know, I’m not his keeper,” Chris answers. When Dan continues to look back at him with his blank stare Chris sighs and closes his book.

“He was acting all weird and biblical this morning, which means he probably snuck up to the roof again. He always goes there whenever he wants to simultaneously be alone and do something that could get him forced to get even more drugged out than usual.”

“How does he get up there?”

“Fuck if I know,” Chris shrugs, “it’s not like any of us mentals are actually allowed to go there. You’re the one who’s actually free; such bull shit, you’re more fucked up than all of us, can’t believe you’re not in here too.”

Dan doesn’t respond, instead turning around and searching for the first nurse he can find. When he finally finds one he rushes up to stand in front of him, shaking.

“How do I get up to the roof?”

“What?” The nurse asks, looking a mixture of confused and annoyed.

 “The roof,” Dan repeats, “I need to get up to the fucking roof, how do I get there?”

 “Uh, just turn left at the end of the hall, the door’s labeled,” the nurse says, nodding to the hall behind him, “you need your ID badge to open it. Don’t let any of the patients sneak in behind you.”

Dan’s already rushing down the hall before the nurse can even finish his sentence, and before even reaching the door Dan’s cheeks are straining and the edges of his eyes are creasing and suddenly he’s smiling, his lips are curling up and he’s smiling.

It hits him that Phil is the only person who has made Dan smile—a real, honest smile. Phil has created a spark of emotion within Dan’s chest filled mostly with things he can’t identify and can’t understand...he’ll ask Phil what everything means when he talks to him.  Phil would know.

As Dan climbs up to the roof, moving faster than he’s probably moved in his life, he thinks about everything he wants to say to Phil.

He needs to let Phil know he doesn’t need to live for that God Phil talks about, and it doesn’t matter if He is merciful or something else. All Phil needs to do is live for Dan—live with Dan in this world where they can be vivid colors amidst the grey of all the mindless and suffering. Together they will never suffer like the ones Dan delivers to death.

Dan will tell him all about how they’ll hold hands and talk and lay in bed together while they’re covered in darkness… but it won’t be dark, for the light Phil holds in his eyes will brighten the room just like in his dream. They will never be alone again. And Dan will prove Phil’s heart beats a perfect, steady beat... and they’ll live. They’ll  _be_.

He’s still smiling once he’s greeted by the morning sunlight covering the roof, and he’s still smiling when he spots Phil on the other side.

He stops smiling.

“Danny! I’m so glad you made it, this will be so much happier while you’re here,” Phil says, his face as calm as it was in Dan’s dream. His voice is as balanced like how his body is while he stands up on the ledge of the roof.

“Phil,” Dan says slowly, “step down from there.” Dan takes a few steps forward but then Phil is holding out his palm.

“No, no love, you stay there, that way God will watch you instead of me. You’re much more pleasant to watch... it’s so depressing to see the shell of a damned soul break.”

“Phil, don’t you dare,” Dan breathes, not daring to move any closer in case it startles him, “come down and we can talk, I have so much to tell you.”

“But we’ve already talked about this?” Phil says, his face revealing his confusion and his words twisted in a question.

“We never--”

“I told you,” Phil says, now more forceful, his presence no longer calm, “we can’t truly be together while I’m still bound in this disgusting prison of a body. God wills it, so I need to fly.”

“We’re already—”

“I’m already dead!” Phil shouts, abrupt, his eyes now blazing, “I’m already empty, but once I’m free you will follow me, and we can be together like I told you about!”

“You’re not dead! You’re alive, your heart is beating just like mine!” Dan forcefully hits his check twice with a fist as if to simulate his heartbeat.

Phil’s face transforms as fast as always so now he’s projecting amusement, a beautiful smile back on full display, voice laced with his musical laugh.

“Oh, Danny. Now you’re just joking with me. You’ve listened to this body’s chest, you’ve felt it. There is no heartbeat. There is no warmth or blood or lungs filled with air. There’s just me, a soul chained inside.” Phil shakes his head and his blue eyes are shining, but for a brief moment it looks like his eyes glow red.

“Come on, we’ll be so happy together. I have to go now, but you’ll follow, alright? And we’ll spend a damned eternity entwined together. Isn’t that beautiful?”

“Phil,” Dan starts moving forward again, achingly slow, “fuck, Phil, you need to get down from there, I… oh hell, I  _love_  you.” Dan’s distraught, one more of the countless emotions he doesn’t understand, “I love you so much. We can love each other in this world first, yeah? Together. And then once we die, die for real, we will love each other in the next one as well. We already have our eternity, we’ve already started it!”

“You don’t understand,” Phil says through a pitying smile.

“No!” Dan yells, “No I don’t understand! We can be happy together like we already are. Damn it, we won’t suffer, I  _control_  the suffering! You do not answer to any God, or to Satan, or to heaven or to hell or to anything else. I am the only one who matters, I’m here, not in whatever world you’re dreaming of!”

Phil’s still grinning as Dan inches closer to where Phil’s still stood on the ledge. Phil’s smile is unwavering even when they’re only a few feet apart.

“I love you too,” Phil says, “so don’t worry, I’ll be with you in a little bit. I just need to go first.  I’m not meant to be here anymore.”

“No!” Dan lunges towards Phil but he’s already too late, Phil’s already falling backwards off the ledge, eyes serene, relaxed with a smile still gracing his lips, a final sentence floating through the air.

“Make sure you follow me.”

 

Dan doesn’t move,  _can’t_  move from where he’s pressed against the ledge where Phil was just stood, yet he doesn’t look down. Can’t look down.

He already knows what he would see.

For the first time in Dan’s existence, a tear escapes him.

His body stays still while he lifts his face up to the cloudless blue sky. At first he’s sure the sky is mocking him, but then he realizes.

He's been playing a role all along, pretending to be a saviour in the chaos. But he’s not, he’s not because there's no such thing as the merciful saviour. God is real, but he is not God.

God is real.

God is not merciful.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!   
> you can follow me on tumblr if you want, dontforgettopanic.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: ableism, medical procedures, major character death, thoughts/discussions of suicide including eventual suicide of major character, dissociation, a LOT of discussion of death/religion/afterlife.
> 
> Dubious consent warning because Dan's a doctor and Phil's a patient.
> 
> I wrote part of this fic ~2015 and posted it as a WIP Amnesty on a different site (it was technically supposed to be a gift for my roommate so I had to get it out there), but I actually finished it up so here it is! The biggest challenge was figuring out how Danny boi and Philly man would act in these situations... AUs are hard, yo!
> 
> Due to the POV some aspects of this fic are definitely insensitive and occasionally use problematic rhetoric. For example, one person refers to the patients in the hospital’s psychiatric unit as having “fucked up minds.” Additionally, most of my knowledge of the specific medical situations discussed comes from secondhand knowledge and internet-y research. 
> 
> I very loosely based parts of Phil’s characterization on one of my roommates from when I was in the hospital years ago. She didn't have cotard delusion like that discussed in this fic but a different somatic delusion, but part of my inspiration came from this story she told me about how one of her first doctors tried to misdiagnose her with cortard’s syndrome so they could write a paper on her. She told the story in such a funny way but looking back it’s actually really sad.
> 
> I based the set-up of the hospital on my experience in an American general hospital’s psychiatric unit. I only spent 72 hours there so I have limited knowledge of what it’s like to be there for a longer period of time.
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr if you'd like! dontforgettopanic.tumblr.com
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been leaving comments on my fics, hearing your thoughts or concrit is honestly so amazing.


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